Best Reprises Poems

The Pied Piper from New York City – Part One

Dare his name be said?
I say, of course, Yes! 

The Pied Piper, himself, is the man, the myth, the legend.
And they, the so-called incurious lot of the hoi polloi in
American society, are the ones who accept...

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Every time I get happy
the Nana-Hex 
comes through.
A dog's canines 
change into chainsaws,
toothpicks turn into knives,
coral reefs diverge into dirty sponges,
a sandcastle into a mausoleum,
a soldier-ant burrows deeper
into my borrowed grave,
reveille trumpets tap 
a tip-toed timpani of
disenchanted malevolence;
all for the Nana-Song.

I am eleven.
I am naked.
I...

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Words were born that they might find your ear.
A gentle breath against you, my lips brush your skin
with the desire to whisper every word you could
never hope to hear from another. 

Volumized in colorful meaning, adorned in gems of truth.
They sate and appease in the...

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SHOES, BAGS AND TAGS

I’ve got a thing for handbags, all shapes and sizes
It’s a bother changing, but the occasion always arises
Whether pink, black, white, or brown,
Alongside others, I never wear a frown,
Bags for every season, which allows me different disguises!

Then of course there’s shoes, but...

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I hear the words. In autumn's silent verse
lie anapestic wafts of falling leaves
with golden syllables both bright and terse,
the crimson pluck of summer as it grieves

its loss of verdant shimmer.  In the wake
of crisp and subtle gusts the florid blades
crescendo as the sunlight comes...

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Under the clanky aluminum conduit
I sit easy eyed, watching 
My work boots, drink up rainfall 
The lively band above 
Reprises once more
Her thunderous piece
Perking up the dog ears 
Breaking decibel charts
Notes striking between clouds caress
To release disdain or sorrowful mourn 
Release a tsunami of tremor
Heard...

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Translation of Eric Mottram’s KRIM: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY TO SEPTEMBER 1989 - II by T. Wignesan

( This poem is from the collection, ESTUARIES: Poems 1989-91. Twickenham: Solaris, 1992, 62p. Pub. by Yasmin and Peterjon Skelt. Back cover photo by David McIntosh, “my sister’s son” - Eric...

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Je m’adresse au mystère du temps,

Es-tu mon ennemi ou mon meilleur ami? Je n’ai jamais réalisé avant ce moment que les enfants n’ont pas de conflit avec toi.  On n’entend jamais un enfant se plaindre qu’il n’a pas suffisamment de temps.  C’est donc...

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Fragments and crumbs of life, all the little pieces
Your cousins and your wife, your nephews and your nieces
Your kids and your grand kids; their elbows and their kneeses
The hugs and kisses they hand out and all their little squeezes
Your pets both big and small; Great...

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Has society taken a wrong turn
Is there something we can learn,
From the viciousness printed by the press
To the sick trolls on the internet,
Who hide behind their computer screens
And post sick twisted things which are obscene,
In forms of posts and memes.
Meanwhile the media divides
With it’s xenophobic...

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Spring unveils its sweet surprises, 
Perfuming the air with blooming reprises. 
Blossoms dance in the wind's tender hold, 
Whispering secrets of warmth untold.
Sunlight spills like liquid gold, 
While cool breezes weave stories, old. 
Emerald meadows, a verdant sea, 
Invite deer families to roam carefree.
Songbirds serenade...

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She loves freely

But she knows where her heart belongs

She'd be with other souls

But in her heart she loved him so

And he felt the same way

And was knowledgeable of her free love ways

But he was strong enough to share the love

The physical is just one aspect...

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The sky felt dense,

The mood it gave off,

Like moths in hue,

And butterflies in pale,

 

The showering of haze,

Over us at ease,

It’s not seen,

And there I won’t be seen,

 

The morning routine,

Of the everlasting gloom,

The day stuck in reprises,

And another one it seems,

 

It flies by...

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Chapter 1: The End of the Eastern Gilded Age


'Twas thrice yon 'ere time clichés galore, albeit, one two many times, that fairy tale's opening wouldst hitherto a harp. History, the effects of narratives indulgences of a period, like an opening performance as a harp is...

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My heart through its eyes
 So looking for a woman who reprises 
In her present form she reaches out 
Accordingly as my heart remembers her 
Sensually  our path so do cross 
Apparently I am engrossed and lovingly
 I think of her often wishing she...

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